An Alternate Reality
by Love-Aine
Summary: Set before Farmworld Finn comes across Marceline in "Finn the Human". The story is a broad retelling of Marceline's past with Simon Petrikov in that world. No romance, just family-like love and despair. I've wanted to write an AT fanfic for such a long time :) One-shot! Please review!


(A/N: Okay, so what with the newest episode and all, I just had this terrible urge to write something about the Farmland story of Simon and Marceline. However, it is a bit difficult to piece some of the things together, as a lot was not clarified. So, most of what I have written is purely headcannon. Plus, my memory is god-awful, so even if I just recently watched the episode, some details may be off. Marceline had never been bitten by a vampire, therefore she aged. This is a bit sullen, but I hope you enjoy!)

I have been in this very spot for over 600 years, staring into darkness and slowly feeling myself go insane with each passing day. I will admit that I am indeed insane. I spent nearly every moment in complete silence, save for the sounds of the outside world whether it be from storms or passing folks from the nearby village. I travel into town perhaps once or twice in a century, but there's really no point anymore. I have become a disgrace: a haggard old woman, dressed in rags and covered in the filth of the underground.

However, I am not alone in my insanity. The man before me has been my only company for this long, long time. He is my only friend in my world of darkness. He is my companion, my savior, my dearest ally. But he is dead.

I watch over his bones, trapped beneath the ice of the frozen bomb. I had watched him die, slowly, ever so slowly.

My past is as troubled as my present. It's events have led me to this very spot, where I watch my dead friend each day. I think of those days before this cavern to keep myself busy. A sad, dull tale, it is. I have no one to share it with, save for Simon, who has heard the tale more times than I could care to count. But his ears have long since withered away and I repeat it quietly only to myself through these ancient lips.

I was born from the union of a mortal and a demon, though the union was all but harmonious. My parents fought constantly and my mother eventually left when I was a young child. My father, Hunson Abadeer, is –still, I believe— the Lord of Evil and took the separation roughly at the time, taking out his rage and frustration on everything and everyone. With a simple, childish thought, I ran from home in order to find my mother so that I could perhaps reunite our troubled family.

The would was more rough than I had thought it to be. I wandered for weeks on my own, calling out for my mother with tears running down my face. Perhaps it had been months. There was no way I could tell. Hungry and alone, I gave up hope of finding my mother and collapsed in an old town. I was curled on a street corner from quite some time, waiting for some sort of miracle, for my mother, for even my father.

Then he came. No, not my father. Simon Petrikov found me huddled on the cold, cracked pavement and took me by his side.

"Are you all right little girl?" he asked, real concern in his blue eyes. Out of the many humans that had passed me, he was the first to act like he really cared. I trusted him immediately, though words would not leave my painfully dry lips.

His white brows furrowed and stuck out a hand. I looked at him, taking in his odd form. He looked human, I supposed, save for his blue-tinted skin. He had wild white hair and a beard as well as a pair of cracked glasses, resting low on his long nose. The thing that had caught my eye, however, was a shining crown at his belt. The golden metal shone as it caught the sunlight and cast reflections from the three ruby stones it held.

"Come with me," he said softly, taking my attention from the crown. "I'll get you something to eat, okay?"

I must have looked as though I was starving and I suppose I was, for my knees shook as I grabbed his hand to stand.

He smiled and his hand closed over mine. My heart fluttered, remembering the feel of my own father's touch. Simon was cold, almost like ice, but I felt warmth from the kindness I could no longer get from my home. I was still shaking when we started to walk.

"What is your name, little one?" he asked. Then with a chuckle, he added, "How rude of me. I am Simon Petrikov. What are you doing alone?"

"Marceline," I replied, throat coarse and painful. "Mama left."

I stumbled and Simon frowned. He stooped down and lifted me up, seeing I was obviously too weak to make it far. I was swiftly set upon his shoulders and I could feel tears reach the corners of my eyes. I had no idea why this man was so nice. It scared me. I had no idea how to deal with it. So my shaking continued, even when he set me back down so we could eat at an old diner, or when he wrapped me in the blanket on his back so I could rest in the soft grass of an overgrown park, or while I slept on his lap while thoughts of my family flooded my dreams.

Against my fears, Simon was still there in the morning. He too had drifted off, leaning against an old oak with his mouth hanging open comically. I unwrapped myself from the blanket and threw it over him. I could do no more searching, I believed. So I waited for Simon to wake. What else was there to do?

With my chin resting on my knees, I watched the sun, squinting at the light.

"Good morning, Marcy," I heard, jumping. A cold blue hand rustled my hair. "You're looking better already. Are you hungry?"

I shook my head, though he could see though my lie right away.

"Well, I suppose you could just get a little something then. I'm _famished_ so I'll be heading back to the diner. Would you care to join me?"

Simon stretched and gathered up the blanket to fold and stick back on his pack. He took my hand again and led me to same place we had eaten the day before. The place was rather shoddy, but the smells from the kitchen made my mouth water. Breakfast was delivered to the table and I ate more heartedly than before, shoveling in potatoes and egg drenched in ketchup. I saw Simon smiling at me as I did so, and for the first time, I smiled back.

He paid for the meal and after finishing his toast and coffee, we left.

"So, little Marcy," he said as we walked, "why were you out all alone? It's not safe for a little girl. Can I take you to someone you know?"

I shook my head. "I was looking for Mama, but she's gone. And Daddy doesn't want me any more."

Simon looked taken aback.

"How long have you been out here?"

I shrugged. "Mama went away months ago."

"What have you been doing for food?"

"You fed me."

"Before me, I mean." He was looking more and more worried, his hand getting tighter.

"I didn't eat." I had felt hungry during my search, starving even, but being half-demon, I prevailed on an empty stomach. It didn't really occur to me that this would be strange to others.

Simon stopped, his eyes sad. He glanced around and asked me to wait. I stood on the spot, confused. He trotted away, crown clinking on his belt. Several minutes passed as I stood awkwardly in the street. He returned, hiding something behind his back. I tried to peer around him, but before I could he revealed a pink stuffed toy with button eyes and flopping limbs and placed it it my arms.

I laughed, hugging the creature. It was so creepily adorable.

Simon laughed too.

"So what do you want to do now, little Marcy?"

"I'll follow you, I guess. We can have adventures and maybe I'll find Mama."

He looked concerned, but then took my hand again. "I suppose it would be better than leaving you here. Are you a strong walker? We have a long way to go."

Simon was indeed correct. We trekked on, heading north together. He had told me something about his crown, but it didn't make much sense to me at the time. The cold of the northern air didn't affect him, so I wore his thick jacket most of the time. It was far too large for me, but when the harsh wind came during the nights, I was grateful.

"Hambo is tired," I said one night as Simon and I were making our way through a mountain pass.

"Oh? And who is Hambo?" Simon chuckled.

I held up my teddy bear, grinning.

"So you finally came up with a name?"

I puffed out my cheeks. "Hambo has always been Hambo."

Simon laughed. "Then does Hambo want to stop for dinner? We have beans still."

I brought Hambo up to my face.

"He says yes."

So we stopped so Simon could make a fire while I opened up two cans of beans from his bag. We ate after warming the cans up, trading stories, mine being of the tales my mother would tell to be before bed and his being of ancient mythology. I found his a little boring sometimes, but he tried his hardest to pick out the interesting bits.

I started to fall asleep against his shoulder, and he wrapped the blanket around the two of us as I hugged Hambo tight to my chest.

"Good night, little Marcy," he whispered, letting me cuddle closer.

I yawned. "Night, Simon. I love you."

I felt Simon's shoulders stiffen, but I didn't regret what I had said. After all, it was the truth. Deep inside, I wondered if this was how it was supposed to feel to have a father, a man who would care for you with generosity and compassion. And even deeper than that, I wished that Simon would be my father, someone to fill the gap my real one had left.

We ventured for several more weeks. Storms always seemed to pass us by, which I later learned was because of Simon's magic. Mountains became steeper and the walking more strenuous, but I could keep up. However, the closer we got into the north, the more Simon seemed to worry. He constantly fiddled with the crown at his side and his eyes glazed over at the strangest of times.

It was around this time that we often saw airships. The first week, we saw maybe one or two—my memory is hardly perfect. But then they kept appearing on the distant horizon. Simon said that there was a war arising, but it was too far away that I wouldn't have to worry.

I trusted Simon more than I had ever trusted anyone, so I didn't worry. It was only when I saw what happened when Simon put on his crown that I ever worried. He had told me the temptation was too much as he cackled and his eyes grew crazy. It was during those times that I became afraid.

Crowned Simon was someone I couldn't trust, though I wanted to very much. I suppose this old brain has blocked out most of the memories, but I was scared of the man Simon became. The first time I saw him like that was the first time I cried since the morning after I had met him.

"Simon, please stop," I said, my voice shaking.

Simon just laughed, though the friendly warmth of it was gone completely. The crown rested on his mess of snow white hair, jewels glaring down at me like the eyes of the demons my father commanded.

"You need to listen to me!" he suddenly yelled, grabbing me by the shoulders. "We can't stay here. The world, it's not safe." He blinked, then loosened his grasp. "What are you doing here? Who are you? You need to go, little girl."

The tears began to well. I couldn't stand it. Simon, _my Simon, _was forgetting me. I broke away from his grip and threw my arms around him, my cries turning into screams:

"No, Simon! Please!" I wailed. "I'm Marcy, Simon. Mar-cy. You can't leave me, Simon! Not like Mama!"

As I cried, I could feel arms wrap around me and Simon fall to his knees. His face buried into my hair as the crown toppled off his head and he cried with me.

"I'm here, Marcy," he whispered. "Be a brave girl. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Simon tried to keep his crown off, but it called him, beckoned him. Eventually, he could take it no longer after seeing me in that cold wasteland. I shivered, huddled deep within his jacket every day. He decided to head back, out of the frozen mountains. The affects of the crown still weighed heavy on his shoulders and he could see things, _hear _things, but he kept those details to himself whenever possible. His madness began to consume him, I noticed. He forgot his own name more often than my own, and spoke on and off about the approaching war in hysterics.

"I need you to be a very brave girl," he told me one day. We had been together for several months, now back in civilization. He had a hand on my head and was down on one knee, obviously upset. "Will you do that for me?"

I nodded, ready to make Simon proud, though the sad look in his eyes frightened me.

"I need you to stay here. If I don't come back here by tomorrow, you'll have to go on without me."

"But, Simon—"

He dug in his pockets and pulled out a worn-out wallet.

"In case you get hungry," he said, handing it to me. "And you remember how to make a shelter, right? And pick out good plants?"

I nodded and lit my lip, not liking the way he was talking.

He rustled my hair and stood. "That's a good, brave girl. I'll try to be back soon."

Before I could say anything, Simon ran out, leaving me in a ramshackle hut outside of a city. I wanted to call out for him to wait, but it was too late. I clung to Hambo, and looked at the exit of our little shelter.

"Hambo," I whispered. "What do I do?"

The airship had been far more frequently flying overhead and the papers were filled will news of the war. Simon had tried to keep me from seeing the signs, but he couldn't protect me from every one. His night terrors caused by the crown often woke me and he yelled about the war again and again. There was something coming, his crazy self always said, something no one else could stop.

I walked over to stand in the doorway. The sky was dark with clouds and the city beyond looked as bleak as ever. Suddenly the ground shook and I collapsed against the door frame. The sky suddenly filled with countless numbers of dark, strange shapes. Now I recognize them as bombs being dropped by dozens of airships. Dozens, hundreds of them were driven towards the ground, though they were small. My eyes widened and I couldn't think of anything but Simon.

I ran, mind filled with the thoughts of wanting to be by the side of my friend. My legs pumped beneath me, Hanbo bobbing along as I sprinted towards the directed Simon had gone. The ground shuddered several times as bombs made contact with the earth. I would trip, falter, but then be up again, running in an instant.

"Simon!" I yelled until I saw him ahead, frozen, staring at the ships.

His head whipped around, crown firmly placed.

"Marceline!" he called back. "What did I tell you?! Run!"

It was at that moment that a larger airship flew overhead and the biggest bomb was dropped, Simon directly beneath. I must have screamed, because he swung around and faced the monstrosity. Ice flew around in the sky, a powerful storm brewed in such a small area. It engulfed everything in my sight: the bomb, the sky, and Simon. Everything was so loud, I couldn't hear a thing but the ground shook more savagely than before. I felt the ground break and the ice began to clear from my sight. I could no longer see Simon and only half of the massive bomb was visible. I stood and ran again, forgetting Hambo and desperately trying to make my way to Simon.

The ground was cracked open and I could see the bomb creep down, slowly becoming enveloped in ice. I jumped down to where Simon was, toppling over the stones and dirt, scraping my knees and hands.

"Simon! Simon!" I screamed, trying to blink the dust from my eyes.

I saw him. As the bomb crept further down, Simon was trapped beneath, slowly being crushed. Sweat poured from his brow as he forced all his magic into stopping the detonation. The whole thing was now covered in thick ice.

"Simon!"

"Marceline, stay away!" Simon roared, causing me to stop in my tracks.

The bomb stopped and Simon collapsed, exhausted.

I fell to my knees, tears washing away the dust from my gray cheeks. I crawled over, ignoring Simon's warning for the third time that day.

"S-Simon?" I whispered, voice cracking.

He was crushed, but still alive.

"A little help?" he said lightly.

I cried freely now, happy, so terribly happy that Simon was still alive. I wrapped my arms around his neck and cried into his hair.

"Um...?" he said as he shifted his head uncomfortably.

I pulled back and wiped my tears.

"Simon?"

"Who are you?"

My breath caught in my throat. "N-no, Simon. Not this. Please. It's me Marcy. You're okay now. You don't need to be crazy. Please."

Recognition flashed through his eyes, but quickly disappeared.

"Wow, I'm tired," he said. "I think I'm done for today."

"W-wait, no, Simon! I'll—I'll get this off of you!"

I reached shakily for the bomb.

"No!" Simon roared, his eyes furious. "Don't touch that!"

I fell back. It was the only time I had ever seen him like that. He truly, truly scared me. His eyes drifted closed and he fell asleep. I huddled nearby and watched, waiting for him to wake up. I waited for him to be the old Simon, the one I loved. I knew old Simon was the one who had saved me, no—the world—from complete destruction and he could still be alive under the weight of the bomb.

It took several days and no one came to look in the dark cavern, but Simon woke up. Maybe it wasn't _my _Simon, but he still woke and for that, I was glad. He couldn't remember who I was ever again, or really even who he was. The toll he used stopping the bomb had been too much. But I stayed by his side even as I do today. For the first few months, he wouldn't let me try to dig him out, though while he slept, I try to dig up the hard earth until my fingers bled. I would bring him food and feed him by hand until he asked me to stop. His job was done, he said, and he had no reason for living such a cursed life anymore.

I guard that crown that helped Simon Petrikov save the world, though I can't destroy it. I am terrified to even touch the thing, so it remains by my dear friend's pile of bones. I owe him that much, to keep what he died for safe and his curse dormant along with it.

I have become old and withered, kept alive only by my demon blood and the insanity to keep going. I live now only to protect the resting place of my dearest friend, from that tragic day to the end of this world.


End file.
